


A Parisian Wedding

by Johnismyloveforever64



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Gay Marriage, M/M, Marriage, Romance, relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:20:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26921281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johnismyloveforever64/pseuds/Johnismyloveforever64
Summary: John and Paul take their vows in Paris.
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 3
Kudos: 42





	A Parisian Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> I want to say a happy 80th birthday to John Lennon, who I love dearly.

John and Paul walked along a Parisian street, holding hands. While some older Parisians gave them snide looks, most in the artsy district of Montmarte didn’t mind. They even passed a few other couples that were holding hands.   
As the walked, Paul ate a roll filled with chocolate. 

“Holy shit this is good,” Paul said to himself. John smirked. 

“Gimme some of that French bread.” He tried to grab it out of Paul’s hands, but Paul held it up above his head, just out of John’s grasp. “Dirty bastard,” John hissed, leaning in close and looking in Paul’s deep brown eyes. Paul batted his long eyelashes, and with a reluctant (and exaggerated) sigh, he broke John off a piece of his bread. John took one bite which practically melted in his mouth. Paul watched admiringly as John munched on the soft bread, the older man’s eyes lighting up as he did. 

John noticed Paul watching him. His eyes darting back and forth, he asked bemusedly, “What?” 

“You just seem different here,” Paul responded with a shrug. “It’s like one breath of Parisian air and your skin is clear and your eyes are brighter.” he said it with a hint of sarcasm, but John knew he was being a little serious. 

That’s why he squashed his witty comeback and said, “I feel different.” He squeezed Paul’s hand. “Maybe it has something to do with this.” 

Paul glanced down at his hand that was wrapped tightly in his partner’s. 

“A few people are staring,” Paul noted, his eyes moving towards an old lady manning a pretzel stand. 

“Ignore her,” John turned Paul’s chin towards him. “Look at me. We’re in Paris, the most romantic city in the world. I don’t give a shit about some old lady who smells like cannula oil. Fuck the rest, let’s look at some art.”

The previous day, they had found a little art gallery in a basement apartment. It was two and a half blocks from their tiny corner hotel, and they enjoyed the walk so much, they got lost on purpose.   
When they arrived, they were greeted by two men dressed exactly alike with matching haircuts. They looked similar to John and Paul in that way, who both happened to pick out black sweaters and slim-cut jeans that morning. The couple also had the same haircuts, nearly minted by their friend Jurgen. 

The gallery owners, in their v-neck sweaters and elegant scarves, directed the couple to the gallery.   
It was in a wood-paneled basement lined with modern art, from floor to ceiling (literally, floor as some pieces rested on the floor). John was particularly taken by a painting of two birds atop the Eiffel Towel. It was vaguely abstract, but more concrete than most pieces in the gallery. 

Paul watched as John stared at the two birds and wondered where this sentimental Lennon came from. He smiled a little. 

“C’mon, Paul,” John said suddenly, “I want some fresh air.” 

They walked along the park that surrounded the Eiffel Tower. They were still about a kilometer away, but they could see it from where they were. They held hands again. This time, they walked in sync, moving as the other did, without even having to think about it. 

“I love it here,” John mused. The sun, low in the afternoon sky, was in his eyes. He stared at the Eiffel Tower as if he never wanted to walk away from it. 

“You don’t wanna leave, do you?” Paul asked him. 

“Go back to Liddypool? Course we gotta go back, be realistic. The Beatles are there. Our families are there. We can’t just ditch it all to become Parisians.”

“I know, I wouldn’t want to move here either,” he replied. 

“But in another life,” John mused, toying with the edge of Paul’s fridge but not making eye contact with him. “You know, I’d want to go back to Liverpool if I knew,” he sighed. “Forget it.”

“You can tell me.” Paul reasoned. 

“No, it’s fine, just,” he grunted, then softened his tone, “Let’s just walk. We’ll be here a few more days. Let’s just enjoy this while we have it.”

“We’ll always have it,” Paul vowed. 

John’s gaze flicked up towards his boyfriend’s. “Don’t make me say the line,” he responded in a hushed voice.

“I want you too,” Paul whispered. 

John rolled his eyes, and then in a velvety voice he said, “We’ll always have Paris.”

That made Paul smile which made it all worth it. 

“Okay,” John said wryly, “let’s see the great eye sore.”

John pulled Paul along and they moved closer to the tower. 

Just up ahead, they could see a couple standing in front of the Eiffel Tower. Everyone else had cleared the way for these two. The man stood facing the woman, the sunlight silhouetting his figure. The woman held both his hands tightly.   
The man said something to the woman which made her tear-up. Then, he got down on one knee and pulled out a ring.   
The woman gasped and threw open her arms. He got up and pulled her into his arms, spinning her around. The pair kissed as they spun.   
John and Paul watched it in stunned silence. 

“Too sappy for you, ey Lennon,” Paul remarked as the couple got their photograph taken. 

John shook his head. Wordlessly, he moved forward, his eyes focused on the grass beneath his feet. Paul trailed behind him, still holding, albeit more loosely, to his partner’s hand. 

They neared the tower. The couple had at last gotten all the pictures they needed and finally left. 

As the sun was setting, many of the couples settled on the grass or left to get dinner. John and Paul neared the base of the tower, the prime spot for taking photos. 

“Give me your camera,” Paul commanded. 

John unearthed his camera from his jacket pocket. He placed it carefully in Paul’s outstretched hand. 

He did as casual a pose as he could think of. Once the camera clicked, he returned to his partner’s side. 

“I wanted at least one of you underneath, you know,” Paul replied.

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” John responded, giving him a gentle kiss on the cheek as he got his camera back. He looked wistfully out at the Parisian park. Paul spotted that look in his eye. 

“Something’s wrong,” Paul stated. 

“I can’t lie to you,” John responded, looking at the space next to Paul’s face. “I love you, and I love being with you, but I know that there are certain things we can never do.”

Paul looked into his partner’s eyes and he knew exactly what he was feeling because he felt it too. They weren’t a normal couple. And even though nothing John did was ever conventional, sometimes, they wanted a little of that.   
One more look in John’s eyes, and he knew he had to make this better, even just a little bit, even just for an evening. 

“Stand here,” Paul commanded, drumming up some excitement. He positioned John so he was facing Paul, with the Eiffel Tower behind them. 

“Another photo?” John guessed. 

“No.”

He took John’s hands and looked into his eyes. 

“John Lennon, I love you, and I know I always will.”

John looked confused but intrigued. 

“I’ve already sworn to be your songwriting partner for life. But I think it’s time I made another commitment as well.” 

Paul got down on one knee and looked up at John. John looked shocked, puzzled, and touched. 

“John Lennon, will you marry me?” 

John’s eyes filled with tears. 

“It’s not for real,” Paul reminded him. 

John tearfully nodded. 

“I know, I know.”

“Is that a yes?” Paul asked. 

John quickly nodded, tears streaming down his face. Paul leapt up and into John’s arms. They held onto each other so tightly. 

“I love you,” John whispered.

“I love you too.” 

When Paul pulled away, John declared, “We have to make this special, whatever we can do to make this work.” 

“What do you say? Wanna split up? Figure something out?” 

“Let’s.”

John raced off to a jewelers while Paul went to a florist. John obviously couldn’t afford to go to an actual jeweler, but he hoped a ring from a pawn shop would suffice. He had to give up his belt and all the cash in his pocket, but he knew it was worth it.   
The florist Paul went to was actually a small garden in the park. He knew John wasn’t much into flowers, but he knew if he picked the right ones, he could get something really special for John. 

The pair returned to the park just as the sun was about to set. John held in his hand two rings, each a bit square. Paul held behind him two wreaths made of flowers. He'd found an actual florist in the park who made them. The flowers were small and yellow with lots of dark green leaves, something tasteful with just a hint of femininity; it was perfect for John. 

There was no music, no additional flowers, and no witnesses. Yet they felt so at peace. 

“Shall we get ready?” John prompted. 

Paul placed the wreath on John’s head. He put his wreath into place. They both look like poet laureates which John felt was appropriate. 

They took each other’s hands. 

John looked into Paul’s eyes and said, “I John take thee Paul to be your wedded husband.”

“I Paul, take thee John to be your wedded husband.”

“To have and to hold.” 

“To have and to hold.”

“All our ailments,” John intoned.

“And when we get better.” 

“When we get rich.”

“And when we go broke.” Paul smirked. Then he softened. 

“With this ring, I thee wed,” John placed a ring on Paul’s finger. 

“With this ring, I thee wed,” Paul did the same. 

John looked into Paul’s eyes. 

“Till death do us part,” John finished. 

They kissed as the sun set over Paris. 

**

John and Paul stood on the top of a grassy knoll. John’s hair was much longer than it had been in Paris, which had seemed shocking then. He was in a white suit, nothing too fancy or elegant, though he could afford something much more expensive. Paul was at his side in the same suit. His hair was longer also and greying on the sides. 

Descending down the grassy hill were friends, relatives, familiar faces from over the decades. 

“I never thought this day would come,” John said more to himself than Paul. 

“We can have what everyone else has,” Paul concluded. 

“What we always wanted,” John continued. 

“We had it for a moment,” Paul reminded him. 

“Even though it wasn’t legally binding,” John pointed. “It was still very real to me.” 

John took a step forward. George, who got ordained just for this occasion, stood between them. 

“Do you John Lennon take Paul McCartney to be your lawfully wedded husband?” 

He looked at Paul, the man he’d spent the last 50 years of his life with, and without a moment’s hesitation, he said. “I do.” 

George continued, “And do you Paul take John Lennon as your lawfully wedded husband?” 

Paul knew John was the man he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, no matter how much time they had left. He had spent his whole life with him, and he would gladly do it all again. 

Paul gazed into John’s eyes, wanting this moment to last as long as possible. 

“I do.”


End file.
